Cleaning the Palace
by TheLlamaArmada628
Summary: To avoid his 'aches', Sherlock must clean out the mind palace every year. It is a whole two weeks of shouting, boredom, and an impatient consulting detective (more than usual). To avoid disaster Sherlock calls on the most qualified of doctors to help him, his blogger. Maybe eventual Johnlock, rated T for possible violence and adult words.
1. Spring Cleaning

**Hello! This is my first Sherlock Fanfic. I'm super excited! I'm going to let you know now...I'm American. Therefore, I'm not very familiar with British vocabulary. So if you have any corrections, I will be glad to take them! Also this was meant to be short, so if there's interest in this please drop a review so I will know you guys want more written, and suggestions for what John and Sherly should evaluate is greatly encouraged! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!**

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Spring Cleaning Time!

Sherlock cleans out the mind palace, a whole 2 weeks that is much dreaded to all who knows him. This year John is there and assisting? Who knows what'll happen!

* * *

"So, you used to be a soldier?" Tiffany asked, wait no, Britney, or was it Sydney?

"Well, yes, I_" I started until I felt my mobile vibrate.

**Come home now.**

**-SH**

**On a date now, can't. Ask Mrs. Hudson.**

**-JW**

"Who was that?" Tiff-Brit-Syd-ney asked, craning her head to get a look at the screen.

"My flat mate, he probably wanted tea or something of the sort. He has a brilliant mind when it comes to solving cases, but when it comes to small 'mundane' things he doesn't bother. I swear if I weren't there he'd be a skeleton." I complained, shoving my phone into my jacket pocket after I shut it off.

"Is that THE Sherlock Holmes?! Are you THAT John Watson?" Her face lit up. Not again! Another fan, so ready to shag that they're not even remotely interested in getting to know me! Not that I have a problem with good shag, it's just frustrating when they ask if they can meet _him_. And feelings are hurt everywhere, mine and the girls!

"Uh…no?" I lied.

"Oh sure, secrecy, I forgot." She winked and returned to asking me about my army days when_

Ring ring ring-We could've had it aaaaaaalllll, rollin' in the deeeeeeeeeep- ddddddrrrrrrRRRRRR!

All the restaurant's phones, including the manager's, rang at the same time.

"Tell John to come home now?" The manager questioned aloud.

"Is this a prank?" A confused employee asked.

"Did you get that message too?" Another employee shouted poking his head out from the kitchen door.

I simply rolled my eyes and continued the conversation.

"As I was saying_" I started up again until I noticed Tif-brit-syd-ney's face, she was on the brink of tears, holding her phone to her chest, like a child.

"Y-you should go." She sniffled. "I could never get in the way of you two's beautiful relationship." She gave me a smile, and pulled out her wallet.

"Well there goes that… it's alright I got it." I said grabbing the bill. "But if you don't mind me asking…Why is it that everyone thinks I'm gay?" I asked calmly, I've heard this too many times.

"Um…I didn't say that, I just think the two of you have a wonderful platonic relationship, I don't believe those silly rumours about the two of you being sexual, just in love." _Um…thanks?_

"Um...I-I don't really…I don't really follow." I stuttered trying to processes it, 'in love?'. Sherlock in love with me?

_A week ago: Sherlock, purposely uses all the jam and the milk for and 'experiment'. Because I had a date, and wasn't going to assist him. _

_The day after: Sherlock, uses my laptop and uses my emails to my exes for examples on his blog, the study of 'love' on the common sense of the human mind. Because I was still mad at him for being such an arse._

_And day after that, aka my birthday: Refusing to be out done by his brother, he buys me a Tesco gift card after Mycroft had sent me a birthday card along with a list of instructions about what he wants done. The card was then used to buy milk, jam, and groceries for US. Then he manages uses all of the groceries within the morning revoking his gift, because I told him for my birthday 'I wanted a day in'. When I finally let him have all that pent up rage, he opens the refrigerator to reveal only a jar of eyeballs, milk, and jam. Slams it door shut, smirks, and stomps up to his room and sulks for hours until I gave in. I ended up going on the case with him, to prevent any further damage to the flat, our pockets, and our feelings. _

_Sherlock? Love me? He's a child, and I'm his teddy bear!_

My face contorted in realization of what I just thought…a teddy bear? She caught my expression and leaned over the table to rest her hand on top of mine, as a mother would do her child, oh here it goes... Just what I needed, another fan girl, proclaiming Sherlock's love for me, he's a grown man-child, if he was, he'd say so!

"Sherlock is in love with you." She smiled warmly.

"He just called me because he wanted tea!" I huffed, and how would she know? Are people stalking us? We're just solving cases! We're not bloody movie actors! But then again it does pay for our rent, our clothes, and our other things.

"Hun, you don't go through the trouble to pin point where you're flat mate is and call the restaurant about it. Just for tea." She winked and rose to leave.

My God! Is everyone on this John-Sherlock ship!

"This is Sherlock we're talking about! Of course he would! He thinks he's the most important person in the world! And that I'll get up and follow him anywhere!"

"Yet, you do. Ask yourself: Do you think that?" She raised a brow and left. Amazing, this is the 3rd time a girlfriend had insisted that Sherlock and I were together. Maybe I should stop dating for a while…

I turned my phone on, and started typing angrily:

**Thanks Sherlock, she left! What could you possibly want that you couldn't ask Mrs. Hudson!**

**-YOU KNOW WHO THIS IS!**

**Not important.**

**-SH**

**Good God! Make up you're bloody mind next time or at least give me a warning! I have my own life, if you haven't noticed!**

**-JW (Great now I'M used to signing my initials!)**

**No! Don't be an idiot! The woman's not important, come immediately.**

**-SH (Not my fault)**

**No.**

**-JW**

**Fine then, hope you enjoy the sound of telephones ringing.**

**-SH**

**You sound like Mycroft.**

**-JW **

**No time for joking! It's urgent, John! I need assistance!**

**-SH**

**For what?**

**-JW**

**Can't say, Mycroft's watching.**

**-SH**

"Ooof course, of course!" I muttered and threw on my jacket, and made my way to the flat about 2 blocks down.

"About time!" Sherlock yelled as I was unlocking the door, he always knew when I was at the door without even looking. "Hurry sit down."

I walked in and found him leaned over, elbows on knees, steepling his fingers. I silently sat down on the chair across from him, watching him get edgy as I sat down, trying to avoid eye contact with me, only flickering glances.

"Sherlock, are you doing drugs agai_" I started, when he growled, HE GROWLED!

"Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson, hurry up! Teaaa!" Sherlock yelled.

"What's the matter with you? Shouting like you've gone mad, there are other tenants, you know. And what's this about tea? First you tell me to go on a vacation then you say make you tea? I'm your landlady, not your mother, dear." Mrs. Hudson appeared at the doorway.

"Um why exactly are you packing? Sherlock, what have you done?" I questioned, looking for anyone to answer.

"Oh dear, you should be packing too."

"IRRELEVANT!" Sherlock shouted rubbing his temples. "John sit, Mrs. Hudson some tea _please_."

"Well, only because you're in pain. But don't expect me to always make you tea when this time of year comes." Mrs. Hudson huffed, leaving me in the room with Sherlock. Who stared at the coffee table as if staring at it would move it, maybe an experiment?

"Shut up! I can hear you're thoughts from here." Sherlock growled.

I've never seen him so moody, before, he's had an ample amount of time on cases this month, and he solved them all. Surely, this isn't because of a case, maybe they found Moriarty or maybe even family problems.

He had bags under his eyes, no sleep, as usual. But that wasn't it, his eyes were trained on the coffee table, and he was paler than usual. And he kept massaging his temples, perhaps a migraine?

"Here's your tea, dear. I'll be gone for 2 weeks so take your time. And John dear, aren't you coming?" Mrs. Hudson inquired.

"Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?" I sighed becoming irritated.

"No, Mrs. Hudson. John will be assisting me this time around." He said, he sounded out of breath.

"Assisting?!" She sounded shocked, "Oh dear, Sherlock!" She turned to Sherlock, as of to say 'you can't do that to him.'

"OUT! OUT! OUT!" He shouted again.

"Sherlock! What has gotten into you?! Apologize!" I yelled, great, this is just one large shouting match isn't it?

"What for?!" He said obviously annoyed, when he actually got a look of Mrs. Hudson and her hurt expression. "My apologies, Mrs. Hudson…that was rude of me."

"It's quite alright, sweetheart. I'm used to the yelling, I was married to that terrible man for years, remember? Just don't take it out on John while I'm out, he's a softie." She sniffled and left.

"A softie? W-what's that supposed to mean? Sherlock?" I asked.

"I need silence." Sherlock managed to say through gritted teeth.

We sat there in silence for a good while, him just staring at the coffee table like he has for the past hour and I being left to stare at his disheveled state. I considered getting out my phone and playing a game, when he suddenly spoke.

"Lock the doors, and close the windows." I do so. "And curtains." He adds blandly.

"So are you finally going to tell me what this is about?" I ask again for about the fifteenth time.

"My mind palace." He groaned rubbing his temples again.

"Your…mind palace?" I've heard of the palace, but every time he actually used it, I was booted out of the room.

"Yes, that is what I said isn't it?" He said laced in frustration," Once a year, it becomes overbooked with useless information that needs to be deleted. If I don't I get these terrible aches."

"Sherlock, it's not possible for your brain to become overbooked, that's just ridiculous." He's a got the mind of a scientist, he should know better.

"You wouldn't understand because you're an idiot." He glances over to me, as he always does when he calls me that. "Oh you know what I mean, why do you people get so offended so easily?"

"Because we're idiots, apparently." I exhaled, starting to fix my tea to my liking.

"John_"

"At least _try_ to explain it to me." I was tired, but despite it all, Sherlock needed me, as a doctor and a friend. I wasn't going to turn my back on him, even if he was being an impatient arse.

"My mind palace is like a library. I can recall all the books in it, page numbers, chapters, every senten_"

"Yes, I get it you're smart." I cut him short, while fixing his tea to his liking.

"You say it like it's a bad thing." He whined, a sliver of his healthy self shining through the sickness.

"That is the problem, yes? You being too smart?" I explained pressing my lips together in a straight line, and sighed again.

"No, anyone can be smart, even you, at times. I just notice too much and I retain it, I can't ignore small details, like you do, it's not how the palace works. It is larger than others so I've had to organize it. Now what happens when a library gets too large? Suppose you're the librarian, would you be able to recall all the books or even all the sections? Wait, don't answer that, of course not. If I don't throw out the useless information, I get these terrible aches that keep me from recalling whole information."

"So you delete it? Like you did with the solar system?" I raised a brow.

"Exactly." He answered curtly, reaching for the tea, but not taking his eye off the coffee table, STILL! I'm not even going to ask why.

"Then why do you need me?"

"A second opinion, I'm getting rid of information, I need a second opinion on what's relevant or not, you know me well enough to judge on my part."

"You've done this without me, why can't you do it yourself?" This, this is what was so important, that he interrupted my date for? For a second opinion? Apparently my opinion means a lot to Sherlock, so I'll have to do it, not only that but this is causing him physical pain, which I'll have to have him checked out for, perhaps a strange psychosomatic migrane.

"It takes longer." He whined, I swear a brilliant child in an adult's body. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, moving his robe about.

"What if I delete something important?" I interrupted his sudden need to get comfortable.

"I'll be here John, it is my head." He scoffed, finally settling for the fetal position back facing me, much like he does when he sulks about my blog.

"Okay, when do we start?" I sighed, adjusting myself on the chair and grabbing my cup, this is going to be a while.

"As. Soon. As. Possible. Types of cereal, what do I erase?" He popped up on his feet as if he got a new case, then suddenly sat back down suddenly staring at the coffee table AGAIN!

"Um…corn flakes? Wait a minute, w-why do you keep staring at the coffee table?"

"Because if I retain anymore information, like for example, just glancing at you I could tell that you tripped on the stairs on the way up. And your answer is incorrect. It is all of them." I raised a brow again. "Cereal is irrelevant." He hissed/elaborated.

"I'm not even going to ask…" I muttered. "Wait, it's only irrelevant, because you don't like cereal, isn't it? How are you going to go around not knowing what cereal is?"

"Of course, I'll know what cereal is! Just not the bloody labels is all... The basics, John! The basics! Think! I knew what the names of the planets were, I just didn't know the earth revolved around the sun! _Please_ remind me to delete that, my head is aching just think about it." He said slowing down remarkably at the end which isn't like him, usually he kept at top speed on explanation to save time…I suppose was the reason.

"Oh." Was all I could think to say.

"Movies." He tested again, picking up the uncertainty in my voice.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" I massaged my temples, now I'm developing a headache.

"Subcategories: Lines, Director, Trivia, Actors, Famous lines, rumours." He offered.

"I suppose just the famous lines. We do get a lot of references of them on cases." I shrugged.

"Exactly. See? Anyone can be _smart_." He said smugly, I'd love to just…URGH!

"How long does this usually take?" I said trying to calm down.

"Two weeks…straight." He yawned. "Let's start with one of the big sections, perhaps that'll impede the aches from coming so soon." He stood and grabbed the skull from the mantle and set it on his lap, and decided to stare at it instead.

"And what section may that be?" I already tired and not wanting to play into his 'I'm interesting John, pay attention to me.' Antics.

"Everyone at the yard." He deadpanned, with a bit of a smirk. "Let's start with Anderson, let's delete him completely. Agreed?"

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**One of those people who skip the author's comments at the top? (I do that often too, so no judgment here) If you have an idea or want more written, please review, follow, or favorite. Just let me know if you liked it (or not like it, I take critiques it's what reviews are for right?), because if not I have 5 other stories that are ongoing now. I have no problem continuing (in fact I'm very happy to) just as long as I know someone is reading. Thanks guys!**


	2. Just human afterall

**Thank you all for following, so as promised I'm continuing. And I decided to put them on a case, and make an actual plot line. Hope you guys don't mind and enjoy it! Please Review!**

**I do not own Sherlock or any of it's characters.**

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Well today was...eventful. I learned things about the DI's at the Yard that I seriously didn't want to know. For a lovely picture for your mind, Sally and Anderson were having an affair along with some other unwanted details, Greg is into women and men, and broke a leg resulting in a slight limp during his uni years, which he attended with Mycroft, whom he still runs into at the bakery. Even Molly...it turns out Sherlock isn't so daft when it came to Molly's crush on him, he knew Molly's affections for him nice and clear. I asked him why he pretends not to know, he just left it at 'when I have the opportunity to  
experiment I will', then he mumbled something about not being an angel.  
" I need a break, and coffee_"  
"Yes, black with two sugars." I groaned slumping to the kitchen, we've been at this for hours, if I had known I would've called in an extra week for sleeping! So far the only things we deleted is cereal, the solar system's gravitational orbits, and Anderson.  
Which, speaking of, is an interesting process, the deleting takes effect after he sleeps. So he napped and voila! No Anderson ever existed in his brilliant head. I asked him who sergeant Donovan was having an affair with and he stated the coroner and had a blinking fit concluding/asking 'I deleted someone, didn't I?'.  
I heard a beep and Sherlock shifting on the couch, then a loud thud from his sudden 'the game is on' stance. I mouthed "John, a case!", while stirring the sugar into the coffee.  
"John! A case!" I heard his shout from the living room, I smirked, even he is predictable, human...almost.  
"What number?" I  
" A 8 and a half." He ran to his room to get dressed.  
"Shall I take the laptop?" I sighed. He sure is making a lot of fuss over an 8 and a half.  
"No need, I'll come." He said with a newfound pep, emerging from the living room in his usual attire, and grabbing his coffee.  
"But Sherlock! You're aches, remember?! Or is that a farce to get me to go on cases with you?" I pouted, I'm about done with cases for the week.  
"Clever, perhaps I'll try that another time. No John, aches are no joke they are the bane of my existence!" He joked half-heartedly/sarcastically/dramatically  
"Sherlock, how long have you had these aches?" I asked.  
"Since I was 12?" He guessed non committily as he tied his scarf.  
"Have you seen a psychiatrist?" I questioned further.  
"Unnecessary, if it was life threatening I would've died already. Now hurry up, we're going to France!"  
"France?! I've got work!" I face palmed. Ridiculous! This man expects me to drop everything and follow him to what may be the end of the bloody earth! And the worst thing is, I do it!  
"Problem?"  
"Work. Sherlock. I do have a M.D. behind my name for a reason."  
"You just called in two weeks." He reasoned.  
"Really Sherlock? Honestly, is a trip to France and cleaning out your mind palace going to take just 2 weeks?" I tested him, he sat and pouted. "Fine I won't go." He concluded, after a good while of finger steepling.  
"Sherlock, just go!" I sighed, he's such a child!  
"I'm not going on a 8 and a half without my blogger or my doctor!" He retorted "It's dangerous." He added after squinting his eyes at me like I made him say something bad.  
"You like the audience don't you?" First time he's mentioned something nice about me blogging for a while.  
"I like not being broke." I emphasized the 'like'.  
"Just admit it you like the attention." I poked.  
"It's a double edged sword." He gritted his teeth, getting increasingly annoyed by the question.  
"Fair enough." I smiled and dropped the subject. "But still...it is France. You should go. Expand your horizons."  
"There's nothing special about France, John. It is a highly over romanticized notion that it is. And I already said no." He rolled his eyes while he crosses his arms and legs, obviously upset.  
"Sherlock if I get fired or quit again, it'll damage my résumé even more and I won't be able to work." I reasoned. "I would love to be whisked away to France with you, but I can't. I don't have your power of influence. So just go on the damned case already, God knows you want to, by the way your pouting." "Leave."  
"You don't have to be so dramatic! I paid rent for this month!" I gawked.  
"Then walk toward the flat, make sure your unseen by cameras." Oh...a plan, for what?  
He was looking at me like I was Anderson, that look that screams 'idiot'. It certainly has been a while since he's used that look with me, at least it was less intense...  
"Why?" The mother of all questions.  
"I'm calling Mycroft." He exhaled leaning back on the couch pushing his hair back, then looking at me, 'this is your fault' his face screams.  
"You don't have to..." I dismissed his offer, if you could call that an offer.  
"Do you want to go to France with me or not?" He hissed irritatedly.  
"Uhm...yeah, uh yes." I corrected myself, then he turned and waved me off and the deed was done I was going to France...and giving Mycroft hourly reports on Sherlock's condition. Bollocks.  
"So what was the case about?" I asked finally after an hour of silence.  
"I'd thought you'd never ask. Mass suicide in the Palais Garnier, it's been happening for a  
while now, all kept in secret because of the theater's reputation. But now their lead singer has gone missing and the show simply cannot go on without her. Although the managers seem keen enough to put the understudy on the stage and keep the investigation secretive_surgery is the excuse. But who cares!" he yelled, making even the driver look back. "Don't look at me like that...The manager was not pleased with the local detectives reports so he contacted me. We'll rather contacted Lestrade who forwarded it to me. Argh!"  
"Sherlock..."  
"My mind is clouded! I'm recalling too much irrelevant information, think of information to delete, quickly!"  
"Coordinates, shoe brands, um...population numbers, media scandals, um...violin music you don't play anymore?" I thought frantically.  
"Good good." He leaned back and closed his eyes.  
I pulled out my phone, hopefully to beat my score on Temple Dash, when I noticed a new message from an anonymous number. Mycroft.**  
**

**How is the honeymoon so far?  
-MH  
**

**He's asleep.  
-JW  
**

**That was quick;)  
-MH  
**

What?! What's that supposed to mean?! Childish! Both of them! I'm not even going to think about what that means!**  
**

**Excuse the inappropriate emoticon. Anthea will be thoroughly reprimanded. Now, make sure to keep your end of the bargain or you'll find yourself quickly unemployed.  
-MH  
**

**Will do.  
-JW  
**"We are here." The driver said with a thick Russian accent. "Get out." And I did, unloading our luggage onto the curb, while Sherlock snored cozily in the scary cabbies car.  
Mycroft's men are really unusually nonprofessional today. I thought he had unlimited power, but even he can do so much I suppose, we're all human, even the Holmes brothers.  
"Bonjour Messieurs, permettez-moi de prendre vos bagages?" A bellhop said, grabbing our bags. He probably wanted to take our bags but I could be wrong...  
"Um...English?" I tried. "Sherlock, wake up!" I shook him and he made an annoyed grunt noise but woke up, while the man repeated himself slower.  
"I'm sorry, I don't speak Frenc_" I said slowly.  
"Oui, vous avez demandé, donc ne s'attendent à un pourboire. Nous sommes fauchés." Sherlock spoke flawlessly.  
"Hahaha...yez." He nodded and whisked our bags away.  
"What did you say?" I asked prudently.  
"I told him the truth: We're. Broke. Imbecile! Soyez prudent avec ca!" He shook his fist at the bell boy who held his violin case.

"Sherlock! Even I know what that means! He's just a kid! Spare him the idiot speech! Will you_"

"Hurry up! We haven't got all day!" Sherlock cut me off and was already walking up the street.

"Actually we have 2 weeks." I corrected him, "but who cares about checking in, let's get on with the case. The case is most important than our housing!" I muttered to myself running after him.

"Monsieur! Your bags." The bell boy called after me. Oh yes! We had our bags! We can't just leave them here, looks like I'll have to check in after all.

"Oh, of course!" I stayed behind to check in and put our bags in our room, and took the first taxi to the Palais Garnier.

The place was huge, probably an old building from long ago. It's luxurious, certainly something built for royalty.

I walked in and asked for a manager, they understood English well enough.

"Welcome! Mr. Holmes!" The manager greeted me.

"Oh, no. I'm John Watson, Sherlock's flatmate. Um, hasn't he arrived yet?"

"No, no word of his arrival has reached me." The manager informed me.

"W-what do you mean? I practically searched the whole place for him."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what to tell you. Perhaps he is in the audience somewhere?"

"Yes, perhaps." I had a sudden sinking feeling, it wasn't like him to just sit and watch the play, no matter how fancy…Backstage!

"Do you mind if I take a look behind stage?"

"Of course, just stay off stage." He warned politely.

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

Backstage was complete chaos, people running everywhere, wigs on the floor, set pieces being moved, etc.

"Wait! Your sash!" A lady chased after a ballerina, there is no way I'm going to find Sherlock in this mess!

I felt my phone vibrate again. 2 messages Mycroft wanting a report and one from Sherlock. I update Mycroft and checked Sherlock's message.

You're late. Look up.

-SH

I looked up and saw him walking the fly gallery above us, he waved his phone light at me.

"Oi! Get down from there!" A Scottish man pushed by me ready to confront Sherlock, I followed him up the ladder and to Sherlock. "Cette zone est pour les employes seulement! This area is for employees only!" He yelled at Sherlock who just stood there hands in pockets glaring him down, probably deducing the shit out of him.

"We are employed by the theatre's manager, if you have questions about our appearance speak to him. Otherwise you are wasting our time." He turned on his heels and continued down the fly gallery hall.

"Why I ought_" The man clenched his fists.

"Don't mind him, he's going through some things right now. What can you tell us about the disappearance of the lead lady?" I asked, he looked me up and down and sighed.

"That's easy. The opera ghost took her."

"Opera ghost?" I gasped,

"Yes, this place is haunted."

"You can't be serious."

"Tell that to the victims."

"Victims?"

"3 people have fallen off this fly gallery, one happened to have a noose around his neck, the other two jumped."

"Accidents? And a suicide."

"They were murdered. And it's not only them, an actor shot himself in the dressing room. And one of our technicians inhaled a toxic gas from a smoke machine test."

"So a total of 5 people?"

"Yes, but these were all counted as suicides? How about the technician?" I asked.

"He was locked in a room, we kept trying to open the door. He kept screaming 'go away' and 'leave me alone'. The police thought it was him, trying to poison himself, others say that there was another person in the room." This man was certainly sure that this 'ghost' existed.

"Has anyone seen this 'ghost'?"

"No, if you do, you're dead! BOO!" He shouted, I stood there blinking. "Not scared of ghosts are ya? Well stay a week, you will be." He walked backward into the darkness, like some cliché movie. Actors…Stagehands…Sherlock…Ghosts…too much drama! And trash! I slid my foot to push aside a paper that laid in the middle of the walkway. Honestly, you'd think the theatre was a more kempt place, especially in a place as grand as this.

"So what did he tell you?" I nearly ran into him, seeing as to how dark it was. He was crouched down looking at something on the floor.

"There's an opera ghost apparently." I stood next to him watching him work, taking in the sights around him.

"Yes, they call him 'the phantom'." He said sarcastically. "What do you think?"

"Seems reasonable that they blame a person for doing it, that's way too much suicides for just well you know the usual reasons." I pondered. "You?"

"Nothing conclusive." He said now looking at the railing.

"Hey! Get off of there!" We heard a Scottish accent yell.

Suddenly the floor below us tilted, I tripped and started sliding down the platform.

"JOHN!" I heard Sherlock shout.

I reached out and held onto a rail, I looked down at the actors staring at the slanted bridge above them.

"I'm alright! But I can't hold this for long!" I yelled up to Sherlock. He peered over and exhaled, and started climbing down my way.

The small section of suspended hall was slanted at an almost vertical angle the bottom of the hall hung about 30 feet above the stage floor. A potentially lethal jump, but I most certainly will injure something if I were to let go.

"AHHHH! The Phantom!" A lady from below us screamed pointing toward us. We both whipped our heads to the top of this disaster and we were met by the flipping of someone's cape as they turned to leave.

"Sherlock!" I prompted him to go after the phantom, when he looked up at the fast disappearing figure and to me. And he continued to climb down to me. "He's getting away!"

"Honestly, John. There will be another time, he wants us dead, he'll show up again. Stop trying to become a martyr." He held his hand out to me.

"Yeah, I guess your right." He pulled me up enough that I could climb up the railing and to the safety of the secured halls.

"These steel cables were cut, that would've taken time." He mused looking at the snapped cable. "John, did you see anything of importance?"

"I saw what you saw." I shrugged.

"Who called out to us?!" He yelled to the crowd of people. "Who warned us?"

"I did." The Scotts man pushed past everyone.

"What did you see?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"I saw what we all saw: The Phantom." The man crossed his arms, he was so sure of this phantom character.

"He's not a specter, he's human." He dismissed the 'ghost' theory.

"How do you know?" He spat.

"The soles of your shoes, show them to me." Sherlock ignored him, these two were just not getting along.

"Are you accusing m_"

"The. Soles. Of. Your. Shoes. If you please." He challenged the Scott. Finally, the Scott lifted both of his shoes, nothing.

"John." He prompted me, I showed him the soles of my shoes. And last of all he showed us his.

"So?! What is that supposed to mean?" Someone in the crowd yelled.

"On my way up to the fly gallery I noticed a swept up pile of trash, consisting of flower petals, glitter, and someone's love letter. Seeing the heading as 'Dear Christy'; the name of the missing actress, I opened it and read it. It was a jumble of clichés, spelling mistakes, and almost comical nonsense, so I got bored with it and returned it to the pile."

"I don't get it." I shrugged.

"That's because I'm not done. Patience, my dear W_"

"Don't call me that, and you're the one to talk." I interrupted him.

"Upon the swishing of a certain phantoms cape, which we all agreed we saw." He looked around and several people nodded. "He blew over the paper from the pile and stepped on it." He held up the letter with a partial foot print on it.

"Brilliant!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, so unless specters wear_" He looked like he lost his train of thought. "…shoes than this 'phantom' is human." He finished.

"How do you know it wasn't stepped on before that?" The Scott questioned.

"Because I saw it fall from your pocket when you chased after me. In which John pushed it aside with the side of his shoe into the trash pile, assuming it belonged there. Which I may add, it does."

"Sherlock!" I scolded him. I knew he was short tempered due to his mind palace being over crowded but he was being a complete arse.

"Oh yeah? How many women had you had?" And what does that have to do with anything?!

"Cut it out! I hired Monsieur Holmes to rid this place of this terrorist! You are not to hinder his investigation any further!" The manager appeared stage left, gently backing the Scott away from Sherlock, very gratefully. "Understood?"

"Aye." The Scott huffed.

"Jusqu'à ce que le couloir est réparé, le stade est hors limites!" The manager announced, the crowd gasped and the director from the front seat, started a yelling match in French with the manager.

I saw Sherlock leave stage discreetly, followed him all the way out into the street.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" I put a hand on his shoulder, he looked frustrated.

"I knew the shoe brand, I know this print! I knew it! I_We've deleted it." He turned back to face the street and continued sulking.

"Sherlock, how is the brand of the shoe going to help us find the phantom?" I raised a brow.

"Everything! It could tell us whether he is rich or poor, where he lives, where he shops!" He shouted in frustration.

"Welcome to our world, I have a friend specializes in these things, I can send him a pic_"

"That's not the point, John. I'm aware that these things can be done. I am concerned for my me, I told you before John, I depend on my senses, my ability to take in information and recall it later. I-I shouldn't need to have it scanned."

"It's not like it's lost forever Sherlock, once we get the results. I'm sure you'll remember. Like the solar system, once mentioned you recalled it. You're probably worrying yourself for nothing."

"You have so much faith in my abilities, why? I am human, John. I have my faults."

"Oh trust me I know, you're terribly clueless in the matter of other people's feelings, your selfish, sometimes cocky, also insensitive, and you're a bit of a sadist."

"In what way?" He became offended.

"The Tesco card…Sherlock, it was my birthday." I reminded him.

"I saved you the milk and jam!" He defended himself. We stared at each other and busted out into laughter, which lasted half a minute when Sherlock suddenly turned and started walking down the street.

"You're shaking." I noted to myself, it wasn't cold. I could fathom why, he must be having one of those aches.

"Go...Somewhere." He ordered me, when he heard I was following.

"Why do you keep walking off and disappearing? Sherlock!" I shouted.

"I need to be alone!" He snapped in an attempt to scare me off, but I was way too used to him shouting.

"Fine! FINE! I see! You drag me all the way to France insisting that you needed me, then when a problem arrives you tell me to go away! I'm here to help you Sherlock! I'm not going to let you push me away when you need me the most." I yelled back at him.

"Isn't that for me to decide? Whether I need you or not?" He barked. "I am fine."

"NO! You are not, you're trembling, and your voice is shaking!" I pointed out.

He turned and continued walking, ignoring me.

"You know, I bet if you actually faced the problem instead of running from it, you wouldn't be like this every year!"

He stopped walking, stood there for a while then continued.

"Great just…Just leave me in the middle of Paris!" I yelled, and walked aimlessly until I found a bench.

**How is he?**

**-MH**

**It's not even an hour yet! Stop rushing reports!**

**-JW**

**You saw us, didn't you?**

**-JW**

**Hello?!**

**-JW**

** .uk.21673/LauraBrooks/wierdo-resisting-ambulance**

**I'm sure you'll find this interesting, I did.**

**-MH**

I clicked on the link and on came a video of Sherlock.

"**So we called the ambulance cause' this guy looked like he was in pain. And as soon as the ambulance guy asked if he was alright, he got all defensive in stuff. And look at him now, that's so weird!" **

Sherlock was resisting medical help, the medic just stood there with a bandage. And started chasing after Sherlock! Great.

I got up and ran out on the streets and asked around to anyone who understood, if they saw a man with curly black hair, a long trench coat, with a blue scarf. Or an ambulance.

When I saw a crowd and flashing lights, I wove through the crowd, and I couldn't believe my eyes:

"Stop! I already told you I'm fine!" He had his arms and legs on the corners of the ambulance while a paramedic attempted to push him inside the ambulance.

"Whoa! Whoa! What's going on?" I pulled the paramedic off him.

"Sir! I'm going to have to tell you to step back." He seemed flustered and frustrated. Sherlock was stuck frozen staring into space when he noticed me and hopped off the back of the ambulance.

"John! He's a doctor! He'll tell you: I. Am. Fine." He grabbed he paramedic's collar, he looked angry. But why?

"Is this true?" The paramedic asked looking to me for help.

"Yes, w-what was the problem?" I asked peeling the medic's collar out of his hands.

The medic explained that he was found leaned over in an alley hyperventilating, and that he had dug his fingernails into his palm so hard that it started bleeding.

But Sherlock was firm that he wasn't going to a hospital or any form of official medical facility. So I did the only thing I could do, I took him to the hotel to get his hand patched up.

At first he didn't say anything then he had a troubled look on his face.

"I-I can, still work this case." He breathed heavily.

"Tomorrow, for now you need rest. Up you go." I helped him up and got him in bed. I worked on my blog for a bit, then checked on Mrs. Hudson, when I heard him talk in his sleep, he kept apologizing. After much tossing and turning about, he finally muttered a name 'Sherrinford.'

**It's been two hours, report or else.**

**-MH**

**He had some sort of panic attack. He's sleeping now.**

**-JW**

**Who is Sherrinford?**

**-JW**

**Where did you hear that name?**

**-MH**

**Sherlock, he spoke it in his sleep.**

**-JW**

**I see. Never speak of that name again, understood?**

**-MH**

I didn't reply. Who could this Sherrinford person be? And why is Mycroft so worked up about it?

I heard my phone vibrate again and it struck fear in my mind, one word, no initial, all caps, just:

**UNDERSTOOD?**

**Yes!**

**-JW**

My God, this must be some terrible back story to this whole thing!

"John." Sherlock grunted. "Make a list…of things…to…delete."

"Sure thing." I assured him.

I know how it is to have a secret that you don't want to talk about. I feel so bad about that comment I said about running from the problem. How hypocritical of me…don't I feel like an arse. So for now, it's none of my business, but if this escalates I'll have to step in as a friend and a doctor.

I picked up the hotel stationary:

"I've got to be careful this time." I took a deep breath and started.

_List of things to erase:_

_Types of constellations? Uh no that helped once._

_Names of architectural structures_

_Types of rock structures_

_Different types of coffee beans_

_I CANT THINK OF ANYTHING EEEELLLSSSSEE!_

* * *

_**Soooo, what do you think? I would love some feedback! And again because of cultural differences, I might get some stuff wrong, feel free to enlighten me. Thanks for reading!**_


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